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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23824201">What's Unspoken</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustfulmango/pseuds/lustfulmango'>lustfulmango</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Quiet Moments [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Doc is sad, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Lion is also sad, M/M, Other, i don't know if i'll expand, i think they are friends?, it's about africa, this was supposed to go a different way hahaha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:33:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,397</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23824201</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustfulmango/pseuds/lustfulmango</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Doc's day off is ruined when Twitch calls asking him to get to base. Lion just got himself socked in the face by none other than Thatcher (he deserved it).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Olivier "Lion" Flament/Gustave "Doc" Kateb</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Quiet Moments [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What's Unspoken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>oh man, i've been wanting to write doc/lion fanfic for a while now, and here it is. i just couldn't stop myself until i finished it.</p><p>enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The start of spring always depressed Gustave. It wasn’t the claws of winter still hanging on to the clear days, nor the unrelenting work as patients came and went with allergies or the flu. Nor was it the paperwork he labored through especially in the days leading up to this particular day, avoiding certain operators and participating only in light conversation with others. Only few knew of this disposition; Elena “Mira” Ramirez had squeezed his shoulder last night as he locked up the office, Emmanuelle “Twitch” Pichon in tow.</p><p>“Get some rest, Doc,” Mira said softly as she brushed past him to the lab. Mira had long since realized he’d rather cut out his own tongue than burden her with his ghosts, and instead extended only kind words. With her easy smile, he always felt a little better, but anyone could see that the shadows of the past weighed heavily on him every year. Gustave only smiled half-heartedly at the R&amp;D director in response, only to be stopped by Twitch’s hand on his arm. </p><p>“Text me if you need anything,” Twitch said, looking him in the eye. She didn’t withdraw until he nodded, a little more heart in his face at her concern. Emmanuelle knew that the aftermath of the Ebola containment mission affected him greatly—knew that every year on the same day Gustave requested time off. Like Mira, she let him grieve for the loss of his friend. He was grateful for her understanding, despite never having taken up her offer of help. The other GIGNs, save for one, were always on standby just in case. If they weren’t soldiers, they were family, and Gustave was always grateful for them.</p><p>On his way out, he saw a familiar outline running laps around the track. The sight of the mousy brown hair and the build of the man’s body made Gustave stop for a moment, checking his watch. It was near midnight, and the sight of Olivier “Lion” Flament so close to the next day put a bitter taste in his mouth, moreso than it usually did. Of all the least-liked operators, Olivier topped the list—and Gustave’s list was not long by any means. He watched for a few more minutes, worried against his will when he saw the white clouds of breath in the spring nighttime. It would be bad if any of the operators fell to cold.</p><p>But now was not the time for these kinds of thoughts. Home awaited, and tomorrow was hard-earned.</p><p>“Home” was different when it came to Gustave. He was more familiar with the barracks at the base than he was with his apartment. Sometimes, he’d even have a hard time falling asleep in his own bed. If he’d been in France, he would have an easier time sleeping, and an even easier time waking up; he knew exactly where the cemetery was there, but England held no body he wished to see tomorrow. Fortunately for him, the week’s worth of work had tired him out from his thoughts, and he succumbed gratefully to sleep.</p><p>He’d miss it come morning, when a phone call from Emmanuelle broke the peace during breakfast.</p><p>“Olivier’s been injured,” Emmanuelle said over the phone. “I’m sorry, it’s your day off, but we need you to make sure he and Mike are alright.” And she <i>was</i> sorry. Gustave could hear it in her voice.</p><p>“Mike?” he asked, surprised. He couldn’t imagine the Englishman in serious danger during training, of all things. Thatcher was a professional and also old-fashioned—carelessness was not in his vocabulary. Olivier, however, was a different man. He’d get all sorts of wounds and try to pass them off as scratches, such was his stubborn nature.</p><p>“There was… an altercation. I have them separated right now. Anyway, you should come to the infirmary.”</p><p>Gustave grimaced and said, “I’ll be there in a bit. Make sure nothing else happens.”</p><p> </p><p>Mike was fine for the most part when Gustave arrived at the common area in Hereford base, if a little grumpy. After making a stop by his office, he checked the SAS operator over anyway just in case Olivier managed to do some damage, but it was only a couple of bloodied split knuckles. Seamus “Sledge” Cowden and James “Smoke” Porter stood on either side of Mike’s bench, all of them dressed in sweats and dark t-shirts, still ribbed from whatever event had transpired before his arrival.</p><p>“Never expected Six to let in a brat like that,” Seamus commented, noticeably calmer than his colleagues.</p><p>“He’s playing with dogs much bigger than ‘im,” James snorted. “Needed to be taught a thing or two, and that’s what Mike here did.”</p><p>“Clean the wound regularly and take it easy on this hand. Otherwise, you’re all good to go.” Gustave packed his supplies and stood up, as if he hadn’t heard the SAS badmouth a member of the GIGN. The professional polite smile on his face was immediate and on cue.</p><p>“Right, you’d better go and check on Flament,” Mike said, appraising his freshly bandaged hand. Mike of all people knew exactly how to inflict pain on others, not on himself. And if that’s what his knuckles looked like, Gustave could only imagine what Olivier looked like now. “He needs discipline, Doc. Or I’m gonna have to show the GIGN how it’s done.” Mike clapped a hand on Gustave’s shoulder before heaving himself to his feet.</p><p>“Your discipline is remarkable, Mike,” he said. “But I’d appreciate it if you could leave it to us next time.”</p><p>“There won’t be a next time,” Mike said with conviction. “The youth get harder to tame by the year.”</p><p>Emmanuelle, who’d been leaning against the table, stepped between them. Some of her brown hair had escaped her bun, and Gustave noticed that she was still in yesterday’s gray zipper hoodie and black pants. “We’ll talk to him. I apologize for the GIGN’s behavior.”</p><p>“Don’t make a habit of it, Emma. It wasn’t your fault. Flament needs to learn his lesson, and he needed to learn it a long time ago.” </p><p>When the SAS operators left to grab a drink at their usual pub, Gustave turned to Emmanuelle. The slight furrow in her brow was enough to tell him that she was both worried and annoyed. The downward tick of her mouth betrayed her guilt for having dragged him into it on his day off. Dark circles hung under her eyes—she and Mira must have stayed overnight to work on some of the new gadgets they were testing. Gustave sighed, the professional facade disappearing as quickly as it had come. Usually calm and collected, Emmanuelle was having it pretty rough. Today was proving to be tough on everyone, it seemed.</p><p>“What happened?” he asked as they began to head towards the infirmary.</p><p>It was her turn to sigh. “Combat training with Mike took an ugly turn,” she said. “Olivier made a comment about his brother—Paullie, if you remember him.”</p><p>Gustave’s mouth hardened into a thin line. “Did he mean to tease, or—you know what, don’t answer that.” Olivier was too stoic a man to childishly goad a hardened veteran more than ten years his senior in combat training. Yet, a part of him knew Lion’s calculative mind and volatile personality tended to clash often. It was hard to tell which would be the clear victor in the end.</p><p>“He seems to be having a bad day. His time off request wasn’t approved for today,” Emmanuelle remarked, shrugging. “Gilles and Julien backed Olivier up. Lucky the recruits weren’t here. It’d be terrible if they saw us fighting like schoolchildren.”</p><p>Gustave frowned. It was comforting to know that even despite their differences, the GIGN would defend each other. But it didn’t sit well with him, especially when the accused was Olivier—and, well, he wasn’t sure if he’d personally be able to defend the prideful Lion like his colleagues did. Maybe Mike was right: Rook and Olivier were closer in age, so there were some things youth could account for. Montagne, however, was mentally scheduled in Gustave’s head for a discussion on how to set an example and morals at a later date.</p><p>“You can go back to the lab,” Gustave said when they arrived at the infirmary. “Thanks for calling me.” </p><p>“I can go with you,” she said. <i>I don’t want you two to fight either, </i>she might as well have added.</p><p>“Don’t worry about me. I know you’re busy, and Mira needs your help with all those gadgets that need testing.” Doc smiled reassuringly at her. She hesitated, but eventually conceded defeat.</p><p>“Let me know—”</p><p>“—if I need anything. I know, Twitch.” Emmanuelle cracked a smile at him before she left, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway as she made her way back to work. Alone in front of the infirmary door, Gustave took a long, deep breath. Through the window in the door, he could see Olivier running his free hand through his mousy brown hair, saying something to someone Gustave couldn’t see or hear. He was wearing a GIGN shirt, stretched near the collar where Mike’s fingers presumably fastened themselves to when he pulled him in for the blow.</p><p>Olivier was sitting on the cot when he entered, nursing the left side of his face with a bag of ice wrapped in a spare rag. Sitting next to him was the youngest GIGN member in Team Rainbow, Julien “Rook” Nizan, who looked up when the door opened. Doc nodded at him, the professional mask back in place.</p><p>Rook stood up to leave, grinning sheepishly. “I’m alright,” he said. After a moment, he added, “Sorry, Doc.”</p><p>“We’ll talk later,” Doc promised tightly as he pulled on a pair of blue gloves. He motioned with his head for Julien to leave, not quite up to handling more than one person after the SAS operators.</p><p>Once the door clicked shut, Olivier leaned his elbows on his knees, face downcast and avoiding the doctor’s gaze. He sucked in a breath as the bag of ice accidentally bumped his tender skin.</p><p>“Let me have a look,” Gustave said. He settled into an office chair and gently peeled the hand with the ice from his face.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Olivier insisted, wincing as he said it. “He doesn’t hit very hard.” With the ice out of the way, Doc saw where the bottom lip had split when Thatcher’s fist connected with his face. Dried blood smeared below his nose and around his chin, including a spot on his cheek. The wound was already swelling, embodying the anger that manifested in Doc’s absence.</p><p>“Can’t seem to avoid getting into trouble for one day, can you?” Gustave said, more to himself than to Olivier. He meant for it to be lighthearted, meant for it to be like any other day on the job—but it came out sounding wrong. Whatever magic that usually helped keep his cool was not working today.</p><p>Silence settled between them as Doc grabbed something to clean the blood off Olivier’s face with. He could feel his steely gaze on him now, and it was Doc’s turn to avoid him. Instead, he paid attention to the newly earned bruise, attempting to be delicate—if only his body would remember how to. His muscles were too tense with something unspoken since he received Emmanuelle’s call—of course, it had to be Olivier who caused trouble. Meanwhile, his patient tried to stay still but couldn’t help wincing when Gustave squeezed a little too hard as he turned his cheek for a better look.</p><p>“Sorry,” Olivier managed through his teeth.</p><p>“Why are you apologizing?”</p><p>“I figured that’s what you wanted to hear—<i>merde</i>, you’ll break my jaw if you don’t relax.”</p><p>Gustave let go immediately, surprised. He hadn’t heard anyone tell him to relax on the job in years, much less a patient. “My apologies, I didn’t realize,” he said sincerely. “It’s not because I’m angry at you.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but he figured he shouldn’t stir the flames even more. And while he was adequate at deception, he wasn’t good at lying to himself. He frowned at his own words.</p><p>“What, are you angry you’re working on your day off?” Olivier gingerly touched his jaw, glaring at the man in front of him. </p><p>Like most doctors who’ve been in the field long enough, Gustave usually had an arsenal of retorts when met with attitude. Most of the responses were meant to be impersonal, but because it was Olivier and the day was already going sour, Gustave didn’t care.</p><p><i>His time off request wasn’t approved.</i> That’s what Emmanuelle said. Two could play the childish game.</p><p> “Are you angry because <i>you</i> couldn’t get a day off?” The doctor grabbed Olivier’s chin again (gently this time), brown eyes momentarily flicking to Lion’s green eyes in annoyance. He kept dabbing at the wounds with cotton balls, but the blood was mostly gone. It seemed that despite Thatcher’s grievances, he really did pull his punch, even if just a little. “What’s so important that you need time off on a weekday? Mass is on Sunday, and the weekends have always been yours.”</p><p>Olivier dropped his gaze, hissing in pain when he frowned. In the absence of his response, Gustave retrieved a new bag of ice and a clean towel for him.</p><p>“Why do you request time off today every year?” Olivier returned quietly, half muffled by the ice.</p><p>For a moment, Gustave hesitated to say anything. The question unexpectedly hurt. Did he not remember West Africa? </p><p>Did he not remember trying to explain the aftermath with numbers and statistics while Gustave was breaking down on the inside? Did he not remember he condemned her the moment he gave the orders, leaving her to waste away in a place that was not home, hundreds of miles away from her family where her son would take his first steps and speak his first words without her? Did he not remember that when she died, so did her and Gustave’s collaborative dreams for a different future—one that included she survived the Ebola outbreak?</p><p>“I don’t think it’s any of your business,” the doctor heard himself say. He focused on clean-up, finding it hard to even look at the man sitting on the cot.</p><p>“It’s Lucie’s death anniversary today—”</p><p>“Don’t,” Gustave ground out, spinning around to face Olivier. Whatever dark, bitter resentment dredged from the depths of his soul had made its appearance in his voice, and surely must have showed on his face. The professional smile that was ingrained into him through his career had long been abandoned. “We are not talking about this. It's in the past.” Another lie. He still had her picture, the one with her husband and her newborn son. Every time Emmanuelle saw it, she pretended she never did. That was why the picture lived in his wallet now, instead of in a frame on his desk. Gustave missed her but everybody pretended she never existed—him included.</p><p>“I request time off every year on this day to—well, I think that’s why you take today off every year, too.” The omission of the word <i>mourn</i> was unexpected, as if Olivier was too shy to admit it. Even if he had said it, it wouldn’t have stopped the bitterness from rising up from within the older operator.</p><p><i>You killed her,</i> was what Gustave wanted to yell, but somewhere along these last few years, he knew that wasn’t quite right. Lucie wasn’t the only casualty in Africa. She wasn’t the only one with a family, either.</p><p>The operators’ eyes met. Gone from those green eyes was the intolerable pride, leaving only an uncharacteristic hint of pain. Olivier has a son too, Gustave remembered.</p><p>“She was family to me,” the doctor said, the words coming low from his throat, a defiance of unknown origins lingering off the tip of his tongue. He didn’t know why he was saying this, just that it needed to be said. “I loved her like a sister.” <i>She didn’t deserve to die,</i> was what he really wanted to say.</p><p>“She was good at what she did.”</p><p>“Good is an understatement. She was one of the best. She’d be in Rainbow today if she were alive.” <i>You took that away.</i></p><p>It was strange talking about her in front of the one he deemed most unworthy of her memory. All these years and the two GIGN operators never discussed the consequences of Lucie, or the aftermath of grief that pervaded both their lives after her passing. Gustave didn’t even guess that Olivier knew the date of her death, thinking he was still caught up in the justification of his actions. Gustave marked her death anniversary as not only a reminder to do better, but also as a refuge away from the younger GIGN operator. It was the hardest day out of the year to interact with him, and Gustave never noticed that it might have been the same for the other.</p><p>“Would you forgive me?” Olivier asked, startling Gustave from his thoughts. The younger man’s gaze was steady, seemingly boring into the emotional hole he had just ripped open in the doctor. Gustave didn’t want to answer, didn’t even want to entertain the thought of answering the question both spoken and unspoken. It wouldn’t change anything.</p><p>“Why did you taunt Mike today?” he said instead. <i>Why do you run laps around the field until your legs give out and your lungs are on fire? Why do you spar with the other operators and recruits until everyone’s too tired to keep going? Why do you keep others at arm’s length so they wouldn’t hesitate to hit you if you said the wrong thing? Why did you think no one would notice these things?</i></p><p>
  <i>Why did you let her die if you’re atoning for it all these years?</i>
</p><p>“I just want to  be clear,” Olivier said softly, “that I’m not asking for forgiveness.” <i>I can’t be sorry for saving the lives that could be saved. What would you have me do?</i></p><p> In the end, the argument was always the same. Gustave was tired of it—the arguing, the fighting, the abundance of <i>not talking about it.</i> Of him not talking about her. Of Olivier not talking about what her death meant to himself.</p><p>“One can’t change the past,” Gustave said slowly, leaning against the table behind him. “We keep going and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”</p><p>“We keep going,” Olivier agreed, nodding his head. </p><p>It was so easy Gustave almost missed it. No argument, no pretenses, no anger or resentment to cloud their voices. For once, they’d finally met eye to eye on something, even if they were old wounds and aching. Even if Gustave didn’t know what this conversation would mean later on, if it was a good or bad thing that they talked.</p><p>They stewed in the moment for a little longer, the strange feeling lingering at their bemusement, lapping at their chests. There was hope in this wreck, and it was a tentative start.</p><p>Finally, Gustave stripped his gloves off and tossed them in the bin, having had enough of today. “If that’s all there is, you’re free to go. I want to go home and enjoy the rest of my day off.” He picked up his stuff, more weary than he thought he should be, and opened the door for the other, who mumbled his thanks. It was a rare moment for the both of them to stay in the same room longer than necessary, but somehow, there was a change in the dynamic.</p><p>Before they parted ways, Olivier stopped Gustave with his free hand.</p><p>“It won’t happen again,” he said solemnly. It was a promise that tugged at the stitches of the doctor’s heart, one that shouldn’t be made in this line of work. Hope was only good in small doses.</p><p>Doc knew better than to give in, but after everything, he was tired of withholding the good things from himself. “I hope not. I don’t think your face could take another of Mike’s beatings,” he replied. It took a few seconds to register, but when it did Olivier couldn’t help but grin, wincing at the pain of stretching his wound.</p><p>And, surprisingly, Gustave found himself smiling back.</p>
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